


Things Have Changed

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, I mean lots, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Lots of Angst, M/M, almost, might continue this, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: "His heart ached with the memory of John coming back from a mission, sneaking up on him and whisking him away to their apartment to get some rest. More often than not, he had to be physically pulled away from his workstation, grumbling and groaning at John that he had work to do."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [File Corrupted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830445) by [MnemonicMadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness). 
  * Inspired by [June Unexpectedly Arises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818995) by [Zaniida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida). 



> Re-posting this one for now. 
> 
> It was inspired by MnemonicMadness' "File Corrupted" and could also go along with Zaniida's June prompt... kinda.

Harold closed down the windows on all of his computer monitors. He let out an exhausted breath and his face fell to rest between his hands. It was days like today that he missed the past… the good times.

When this mission had just started out and everything hadn’t gone to hell yet.

When John was still with him.

His heart ached with the memory of John coming back from a mission, sneaking up on him and whisking him away to their apartment to get some rest. More often than not, he had to be physically pulled away from his workstation, grumbling and groaning at John that he had work to do.

He wished for that to happen again just one more time.

He wished for everything to be normal again.

He knew how hard Sameen and Root tried to get him to move on, to forget about John.

But not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about his beloved.

And now that he’s thinking about it again, he can even smell John’s cologne. The flashes of memories that it brought back flickered in Harold’s mind before he stood from his chair.

But when he stood up and turned around, he saw the man he never thought he’d see again. He blinked and tried to tell himself that he was imagining things. Tell himself that John left him two years ago.

Sacrificed himself for the team.

Harold thought he was dead. But standing here now… he almost wished he had died… because the man here before him doesn’t look like _John_. He looks like the man he watched in the CIA footage all those years ago. He looks… lost.

Harold stepped back when John approached him. His posture, straight and rigid, and his face stoic. He stepped in front of Harold without so much as a hello.

As if under a spell, Harold’s gaze was drawn to John’s lips, slightly parted and full, and the sound of his shallow breathing filled him with a fierce yearning.

“Oh, John,” he whispered, seeming to have no power over the attraction he was feeling suddenly. Slowly, he leaned towards him, closing his eyes to caress his mouth with his own.

A quiet gasp of disappointment escaped him as John stiffened, but he couldn’t relent now. The enticing taste of the former op’s lips was far more than he bargained for and Harold drew him close with a desperate groan.

Harold held John firmly by his nape and kissed him deeply, eagerly and possessively. His fingers snaked through his hair, desperate to explore the salt and pepper strands he always found so appealing.

And then suddenly, beyond his wildest expectations, John’s body melted against his own with an answering moan of want and need… he was shocked when John’s mouth met his with equal passion.

Desire surged through him, searing into his body and then his conscience.

Over as quickly as it started, with an impassioned shudder of regret, John gripped Harold’s arms and pushed him away, his breathing ragged as he held him at bay.

Harold felt the cold, hard silencer barrel pushing into his side, the harsh reality of what was about to happen seeping into his bones. He looked down at the gun, John’s signature Sig-Sauer and let out a pained breath.

“I’m sorry.” John whispered, and the brokenness in his voice made Harold’s heart ache for him.

John wouldn’t look at him, his gaze was fixed on the floor.

Harold’s eyes teared up with realization and he gazed at John through blurred vision while his blood pumped through his veins at an alarming rate. The man who once had his back… who would have taken multiple bullets for him… now here to kill him.

John’s gaze returned, capturing Harold’s, riddled with regret.

Harold chuckled, as easily as if they’d been sitting across from each other in a bar. Then his soft expression hardened back into a frown, his tone going flat and his eyes steeled over, “Get on with it, then.”

John let out a broken sob and squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed hard and pushed away from Harold, taking a few steps back.

The gun hung down at John’s side. Harold didn’t move a muscle. Still unsure of what was going to happen.

But even in this moment, even when John had a gun on him… Harold wasn’t afraid of John. He felt no regret or betrayal by the executioner that stood in front of him now, the facsimile of the man that he loved. 

Because this wasn’t John…

This was a murderer created by Kara Stanton and Mark Snow that had somehow been revived by John Greer and Decima.

Harold took a deep breath, swallowing down unshed tears that threatened to break through. “John…” He choked out as the seconds felt like eternity. .

John held up his hand, looked Harold in the eyes, and then put the gun to his own head, the barrel pressed firmly to his temple.

Harold took a step forward instinctively. “No…”

John took a step back, “This is the only way…” his eyes fluttered shut and he took a deep breath.

“John… please… you don’t have to do this.” Harold pleaded. He forced a smile to cover the fear that was screaming at him internally.  What had they done to him? John looked… broken.

“Yes I do… They’re in my head, Harold…” John’s finger hovered over the trigger and Harold’s mouth went dry.

“We can fix this…” Harold took a tentative step forward, testing the waters… as if not to spook a deer in the wild. “I can _help you_ …” Harold’s voice was sick with desperation and his eyes pleaded with John.

“You don’t get it, Harold…” John opened his eyes again, turning his head to the side a bit. “They’re _in my head_.”

Harold just noticed the almost invisible scar curling around the shell of John’s ear and he cursed himself for not seeing it before now.

“The signal is blocked in here… but it won’t be for long...” John clicked the safety off on his gun, “It’s for the best.”

Harold’s eyes went wide and he slowly approached his emotionally distressed partner with his hands up in supplication… “No. John, please. We can take it out. Miss Shaw or… I don’t know! But we can! Please, John... don’t!”

“It’s too late for me, Harold… but it’s not for you…” John closed his eyes, “They’ll be here soon… you should go. Get what you need and get out.” John let out a deep breath, “And Harold… I’m sorry.”

Then an ear-piecing sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the library.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to M_E_Lover for everything as usual

Harold flinched violently and squeezed his eyes tightly against what he knew had been John’s last moment on earth. His legs gave out from underneath him and he fell to his knees as tears streamed down his cheeks. His hands covered his face and he cried out and sobbed in anguish.

“Finch… it’s okay, get up…”

He startled, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He cleared his throat and turned his body to look up at the figure standing above him.

Shaw stood there, her gun still pointed at John. Harold saw that Root was kneeling next to John, a syringe in her hand. “What are we going to do with him?”

Finch huffed painfully and stood up with Sameen’s help. He looked at John, lying on the floor in a heap. “What… what did you do?”

“Root drugged him. His gun went off, went into that wall over there.” Shaw motioned her gun to the wall next to them, a hole now in the cement.

“We have to get whatever contraption is in his head, out of there,” Harold said, walking over to John and kneeling next to him, placing his hand on his face.

“Okay well we have to get out of here first. Get what you need and let’s go. Root has a place waiting for us.”

Harold looked up at her like she had two heads, his eyes seemingly staring right through her. He blinked, swallowed hard, and blinked again. The whole terrifying event seemed like it was a horrible dream.

He regarded his partner once more, before hurrying over to his work station to gather everything, while Root and Shaw got John up and into the wheel chair that was stored in the back room of the library.

“She’s got a plan, Harry. But we have to hurry. They’ll be here any minute.”

#

When it was all said and done, Shaw managed to get the device out of John’s head. But she was worried about permanent damage to the surrounding area of his brain.

It had been almost a week and John still hadn’t woken up… not an encouraging sign. Although Root and Sameen kept telling Harold that it would take time, John had just gone through a very difficult procedure… Harold wasn’t buying it.

It would be just his luck to finally get John back… only to lose him again…

And for good this time. It wasn't fair.

Harold had hardly left his partner’s bedside. They didn’t know when John would wake up… _if_ he would wake up… and if he did… who he would wake up as.                                                                                                                               

Harold abhorred the idea of restraining him… but Shaw, Root and Fusco all thought it was best to take precautions, especially since John had just pulled a gun on him a week ago.

Harold stared at the white, padded restraints with a grimace. Samaritan would pay for this. Harold would not let them get away with it. Of all the things they had done in the past… _This_ was the one that Harold would destroy them over.

It would have been kinder to him if he’d been killed. Now he must be this person filled with a bitterness he couldn’t control. He had a feeling in his chest, a sensation that made him furious.

For a fleeting second, he was angry at John. Angry that he had sacrificed himself and let them do this to him.

But he knew John was just doing it to protect Harold… the harsh reality was that now... with Harold sitting here, waiting desperately for John to wake up… he was actually hurting as much as he was when John had left.                                                                                                                                         

John’s fingers twitched on the pristine, white blanket they were resting on and his heart monitor started to speed up. Erratic beeping filled the room, quickly followed by Harold shooting up from his chair and moving closer to his distressed partner.

“John? It’s me… Harold…”

John’s arms were reflexively trying to get out of the restraints but his eyes were clamped shut. Soon, Shaw rushed into the room and was right next to Harold, trying to calm down the ex-op.

“John…” Harold whispered softly, his hand going to rest on John’s struggling arm. “We need you to calm down… please… you’re safe.”

Soon, the muscles in John’s arms started to relax and the erratic beeps mellowed out into even tones. His eyes cracked open and he regarded Harold for a moment, like he was unsure of what was going on.

Shaw snapped her fingers to get John to look at her and then shined a penlight in his eyes; he winced away from it.

“Know where you are?” Shaw asked, checking his vitals on the heart monitor screen.

“No.” He pulled on the restraints, “You should have let me die…”

Harold frowned and cleared his throat, swallowing down his despair. They had broken John… All the trust they had built up… their relationship… seemed gone.

“Please don’t say that…” Harold choked. “We’re going to figure things out, John…”

“You don’t get it, Harold!” John spat out, “You all need to leave! They’ll be here any second!”

John started to pull on the restraints again, successfully freeing himself from one of them and going to work on the other.

Harold looked at Sameen desperately, hoping that she would be able to do something for John.

“Hey,” Sameen started, she grabbed his arms and held them down by his sides. John continued to writhe in bed, trying to get out of Sameen’s surprisingly powerful hold.

“We got the thing out of your head and the tracker out of your arm. They’re not going to find you… _or us_ ”

John stopped thrashing in bed and looked at Sameen. He gulped and then closed his eyes and his head fell to rest on his pillow. They could see that John finally understood, and Shaw freed his arm. He lifted his hand up to feel the large bandage placed over his head.

Harold gazed up at Shaw as an unspoken request to leave them alone. She shook her head, still uncertain of John’s mental state and whether or not he would try anything right now.

She finally relented after a few more glares from Harold. She checked John over and did a few tests, “I’ll be right outside the door.”

John kept his eyes closed, his breathing even. He didn’t talk, move… nothing.

Harold heard Sameen close the door with a ‘click’. He turned to face his partner, his brows furrowed and a lump in his throat. “I missed you…”

John’s face remained emotionless, a shadow of the person he used to be. Harold would give anything to see that smirk… to hear his voice.

“We saw the scars, John…” Harold ached to embrace him, to ease _some_ of his pain and confusion.

Something flashed beneath the surface of John’s hardened expression. Harold hurried to investigate the sudden shift… but It was too late, the emotion disappeared before he could identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon; the string dangling so enticingly close but the wind takes it away and it's gone forever.

“How many times did you try to take the tracker out of your arm?” Harold’s eyes ached with unshed tears. One stray droplet broke free and fell to his cheek. He could feel the muscles in his chin trembling like a small child.

“12,” John breathed out, his eyes still shut. “They kept finding me, though. That’s when they put the thing in my head.”

The walls that hold Harold up, that are the only reason he is still going, make him strong… collapse. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty teardrops fall from his chin, drenching his shirt.

John finally opens his eyes and looks at Harold. There was a rawness in his eyes, like the pain was still an open wound. “Harold…” he whispered, his hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

Harold shamelessly leaned into his touch, overcome by the wave of his emotions, he broke down entirely, all his defenses washed away in those salty tears. His beautiful blue eyes looked as if an ocean had been encased inside small glass marbles. "Please don't leave me again." He released the sadness and sorrow that has been held inside of him for the past two years.

“I’m sorry,” John said. As if it’s his fault.

Harold can’t help but feel guilty. He’s the one who’s sitting here, balling his eyes out. Nothing’s happened to him. He wasn’t tortured and held captive for two years.

Harold tries to say something, to tell John he shouldn’t be sorry for anything, but all that comes out is an unintelligible sob.

“I know…” John whispers. Harold’s face is buried against John’s thigh, he’s sobbing, his face red hot. A tiny lapse let him pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he collapsed again, his cries of misery worsening.

John pulled Harold up, careful of the wires and lines he was still connected to. Minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before hurling back into the outstretched arms in grief.

Soon, Harold looked up, meeting John’s gaze. “I am so sorry. None of this should have ever happened…” Harold ran his hand softly over the large bandage on John’s head. “Look at you…”

John held his gaze, “I still love you and that will never change.” John ran his thumb under Harold’s eye, wiping some of the tears away, “I’m going to need a while to adjust… to get back to myself… but I’m here and I couldn’t be more happy for it. To be here with…”

Before John could finish, Harold leaned in and pressed their lips together. John’s head was in his hands and he pulled him into a passionate kiss.

They pull apart and open their eyes. They stare at each other, deep into each other's eyes. John’s full of wonder and love, wonder of how Harold could forgive him for putting him through this… forgive him for pulling a gun on him not a week ago. Harold's were full of curiosity and passion, curiosity as to how they would continue… how John would heal from this.

No words are spoken but a story worthy of them is communicated.

John smirked and that smirk told Harold everything and he smiled back, sinking into his embrace…

They were going to be okay.


End file.
